


Broken Pottery

by Author_of_Kheios



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon Compliant, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/Author_of_Kheios
Summary: Mauga has waited a long time to get back at Baptiste, and snagging a little frog in the net might just work in his favour.
Relationships: Background Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Lúcio Correia dos Santos & Genji Shimada, Lúcio Correia dos Santos & Hana "D.Va" Song
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Broken Pottery

**Author's Note:**

> once again, i have vastly underestimated myself and how much i'm going to write... i was aiming for around 10k or less.
> 
> anyway, have another self-indulgent mess of a fic that i wrote purely for the angst and never really got to the angst. did i also write Lucio as a self-insert to explore relationship dynamics between ace and allo characters? yes. yes i did.
> 
> PLEASE BY ALL THINGS GOOD, _HEED THE TAGS_. they are there for a reason!
> 
> if you're still ready for the emotional journey on which you are about to embark, then by all means, enjoy! and don't forget to kudos, comment and subscribe for more (hopefully less traumatic) overwatch fics~

Lucio hits the ground hard, but it's Baptiste who grunts in pain, and immediately Lucio scrambles to his knees beside the older man.

"Hey, man, you alright?" he asks softly as the cell door hisses closed behind them, lock clunking ominously in the silence.

What he wouldn't give for his equipment right now so he can whip up some tunes to cheer this place up...

"Fine," Baptiste mutters, grimacing as he pushes himself upright. His hand goes to his side, and Lucio recalls a rather vicious blow around his kidney.

"Lemme take a look," he says, reaching for Baptiste's hand. He gets swatted away.

"I don't need help," the man says sharply, giving Lucio a dark look.

"Man, shut up and lemme take a look already," Lucio snaps in return, smacking him upside the head to get his attention. "You're not the only healer around here, remember?"

"I don't need help," Baptiste insists, really glaring now. "Certainly not from someone with no formal medical training!"

"You better watch yourself, Augustin," Lucio warns, meeting his gaze with a level stare, undaunted. "I don't need a PhD to kick ass."

"Wrong doctorate, Santos," Baptiste retorts.

"Don't need an MD either! Do you  _ want _ my fist in your face, you stubborn jackass? Because I'm about two seconds from knocking you the hell out so I can look at your injuries. Including the concussion you're about to get."

"As if you could."

"Wanna bet?"

For a moment, the staring contest goes unhindered, until Baptiste finally seems to realise he has no choice and cracks. Huffing an exasperated sigh, he turns, tugging his shirt up to his shoulder to let Lucio take a look.

It doesn't look too bad at a glance, but the moment Lucio presses gently into Baptiste's side, the man squawks and jolts away with a dark look. Ignoring it, Lucio starts humming the melody of a tune he normally uses to calm people down, to lower heart rate and steady breathing. There isn't much else he can do when all they have is the clothes on their backs, but at least it doesn't look fatal.

Certainly it doesn't look good, but so long as it's not fatal, they can deal with it.

"You should probably lie down," Lucio suggests. "Best not to strain it too much until it starts healing. Then you can do some stretches to keep it limber."

"I know how to recover from an injury," Baptiste growls, irritably yanking his shirt down.

"Okay, seriously, what the hell is your problem?" Lucio sneers, fed up. "You've been rude as fuck since day one!"

"Rude?" Baptiste echoes, stunned.

"Yeah,  _ rude _ ," Lucio says. "You know you made Hana cry? I had to keep Genji from tearing your head off at least twice, and even Lena admitted she didn't know what Winston was thinking when he let you join. You don't belong at Overwatch!"

"You think I don't know that??" Baptiste roars, lunging to his feet and looming over Lucio, who jolts back and stares up at him in mixed shock and fear. "I don't belong at Overwatch; I never did! But where else was I going to go? Talon's been hunting me for months; I could hardly sleep because I didn't know if the moment I closed my eyes someone was going to leap out of shadows and put a bullet in my brain. Overwatch is the only place that's safe for me, and I paid for it." Turning away and wincing as pain resurfaces, he sighs. "And now you're paying for it too."

"...What- What do you mean, 'paid for it'?" Lucio dares to ask, not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

"What do you think, Santos?" is the grunted reply as Baptiste steps over to the door and tugs aimlessly at the seam. "I was a member of Talon; I knew things. I... sold out my former team to protect my own skin."

Suddenly, things make sense, and Lucio clambers to his feet, keenly missing his skates.

"Wait wait... That raid the week after you joined... When we shut down that Talon factory... We'd been holding off on it for weeks because we couldn't figure out how to get past the failsafe firewalls; you mean the 'anonymous tip' we got was from  _ you _ ?"

Baptiste doesn't answer, or even look at him, and he steps back until he bumps into the wall, overwhelmed with all the pieces falling into place now.

"All those times we got out before reinforcements arrived... the last second warnings, the perfect timings... That was all because of you, wasn't it?" He still doesn't answer and Lucio stares at him, feeling like he's really seeing the man for the first time. "I- Do you have any idea how many times you saved us with that information? Why didn't you-"

"I betrayed the people closest to me!" Baptiste cuts in loudly, slamming a fist against the door and turning a dark glare on Lucio, lip curled in disdain. "People I knew ― people whose families I'd met ― people I'd had dinner with... They  _ died _ in those raids. I might as well have killed them myself." When Lucio can't find a response, he scoffs, looking away. "Yeah. I expected as much. I'm a traitor and a coward. I don't belong at Overwatch, but I'm too afraid to leave... Too ashamed. And I have to live with that."

-⚯-

The clunk of the lock opening wakes Lucio from his doze, and he jolts a bit, glancing around for Baptiste, who is laying on the floor and shifts to look at the door as it opens. When he sees who it is, he scrambles to his feet with a flinch and a stifled groan while Lucio eyes the newcomer warily.

The man is  _ huge _ , at least as big as Reinhardt, but far younger and broader across the shoulders; a single palm is far bigger than Lucio's head, and he isn't entirely sure he could touch fingers if he wrapped both arms around one thigh. If Lucio had to guess, he'd say the man's an islander, but he couldn't say which island.

"Mauga," Baptiste growls. "You survived."

"Of course," the mountain of a man grins as the door closes behind him, revealing a broad mouth of pearly whites.

It's not a friendly grin.

"I should have known you were behind this," Baptiste says lowly. "Finally gonna kill me? Can't fight back this time."

"Nah," Mauga chuckles. "That would be too easy, Jean; you know me better than that."

"I know you take pleasure in the kill," Baptiste replies bluntly, holding out his arms. "So go on; have fun."

"Still too easy," Mauga clucks, shaking his head. "You're losing your touch,  _ tamaʻi agelu _ ."

"Stop with the head games, Mauga," Baptiste snaps. "You know I never liked them; if you've got something to say, just say it."

"Fine," Mauga huffs, no longer amused. Somehow that doesn't make Lucio feel any better. "You've been a thorn in Talon's side since you defected. You made it worse by squealing to Overwatch. You know what you've done... And I got lucky enough to be the one that gets to punish you."

"Punish me?" Baptiste barks a humourless laugh, holding out his arms again. "What can you do to me that I haven't already done to myself? You might as well tear me limb from limb now and enjoy it while it lasts, because anything else is pointless."

"All this time and still you keep missing the bigger picture, Jean," Mauga sighs. "You think we caught the little frog in our net by accident?"

Lucio goes still, a sudden wash of terror rooting him in place, and the fear isn't helped by Baptiste's reaction; he blinks in surprise and then pales visibly.

"Now you're getting it," Mauga chuckles, taking a step toward Lucio, who scrambles to his feet and scurries back from him. Baptiste launches across the room with a grimace, planting himself between Mauga and Lucio.

"Leave him alone!"

"Oh  _ now _ you grow a backbone?" Mauga scoffs, looming over Baptiste. "Where was that spine when they pressed you to betray us? To betray  _ me _ ? Do you have any idea how many people you've killed, Jean? And after you left because you thought we killed too frivolously." He grabs Baptiste's shoulder and shoves him to the ground out of the way, the force of the fall making him cry out. Lucio takes an abortive step to help, but what can he do against a giant without any of his equipment?

"Please, Mauga!" Baptiste groans, trying to stand up again as the mountain of a man advances on Lucio, who keeps backing up until his back hits the wall and he realises he backed himself into a corner, literally.

"Don't bother, Jean," Mauga rumbles, a mad sort of excitement in his expression as he grins down at Lucio. "You used up any goodwill I had left for you when you blew up a bomb in my face."

With almost impossible speed for someone so big, he snatches Lucio's neck in one massive fist, squeezing just enough that Lucio can barely breathe and blood flow is cut off, making him lightheaded in seconds. He's hardly even aware of being lifted off the ground, only realises he's been slammed against the wall because of the starburst of pain that cascades through his shoulders and skull. Distantly, he can hear Baptiste shouting, but the words aren't getting through.

Then he's falling, hitting the ground, and blood surges back to his brain, pounding like a hammer as his abused throat protests and he struggles to breathe without coughing every second.

Mauga says something, but Lucio's ears are ringing too loudly to make it out. Baptiste's response, however, is loud and horrified enough to make out.

"No! Don't touch him! Mauga, stop!"

"You had your chance to be the hero," Mauga says viciously, grabbing a handful of Lucio's dreads and pulling him up by them. Lucio cries out, grabbing at his hand and scrambling to keep up so his hair doesn't get torn out by the roots. "You lost it when you chose  _ them _ over us."

"Mauga, please!" Baptiste begs, voice breaking. Lucio's heart skips a beat in fear of whatever Mauga has planned that would make Baptiste so frantic. "Please, leave him out of it; this is about you and me!"

"Too late for that, Jean." Mauga wrenches at Lucio's hair, forcing him down to his knees with a whine of pain, and he freezes as icy terror floods his veins when Mauga one-hands the buckle of his belt and opens his pants.

Baptiste lunges at him, only for Mauga to snap his hand up and catch him by the throat, shoving him back with enough force to send him sprawling.

"Stay down; I'm not finished with you yet."

His hand dips beneath clothing and pulls out an enormous cock, bigger than Lucio even thought possible, and growing slowly even as he watches in absolute horror.

"Impressed, little frog?" Mauga taunts, clearly enjoying himself. It's enough to kickstart Lucio's brain and he thrashes, willing to lose some hair if it means he doesn't have to-

Mauga yanks him forward, too hot flesh slapping against his cheek and almost jabbing him in the eye. He flinches away with a yelp, hands jumping to Mauga's hip and forearm to try and push him away.

"Stop it; leave him alone!" Baptiste bellows, leaping at Mauga and aiming a punch at his jaw that might actually have done something if it had connected. As it is, Mauga yanks his arm out from under Lucio's palm and backhands Baptiste so forcefully that he lands on his back with a breathless grunt.

Without even sparing him a second glance, Mauga takes his cock in hand again and tugs Lucio close enough to tap it against his lips. Lucio clamps his jaw shut and tries to turn away, uselessly.

"Open up, little frog..." Mauga coaxes in far too gentle a voice. "It'll hurt more with a broken jaw."

Lucio hesitates, weighing his extremely limited options, and Baptiste makes a third attempt to stop Mauga, not even bothering to speak this time when he attacks. Once again, Mauga reacts instantly, this time picking him up by the neck and throwing him against the wall. He collides with a cry of pain and collapses to the floor in a heap, making Lucio cringe at all the internal and external injuries he's racking up right now.

"Now, where was I?" Mauga hums, turning a hooded look on Lucio that sends another wash of ice through his veins. "Ah yes... Seeing if your mouth is as pretty on me as it is chirping your cute little songs."

"Please..." Lucio dares to beg. A mistake; the moment his lips part, Mauga yanks him closer, jabbing his dick in and forcing his way to the back of Lucio's throat in a single rough thrust. Lucio immediately gags, trying to pull away and pounding desperately against Mauga's hip.

He's so  _ big _ ... The size of him makes Lucio's jaw ache and threatens to choke him if it goes any deeper. Which of course, is exactly what happens; Mauga uses his grip on Lucio's hair to control him, forcing him to bob at a quick, punishing tempo. Terrified, but struggling even to breathe, much less think, Lucio submits, giving up; there's nothing he can do to stop this, and obviously Mauga is too strong for Baptiste to be able to help.

It hurts. Lucio has never had anything so big take up so much space in his mouth, and everything hurts; his lips are stretched, his jaw can't open any further, and his throat is no doubt going to be bruised after so many thrusts against flesh that isn't meant to take such abuse. He can't even swallow, so spit is leaking down his chin with every motion.

The pain is enough to bring tears to his eyes, blurring his vision, and the blood pounding in his ears blocks out sound, so his entire focus narrows to the hot intrusion of flesh gagging him. He can't even be sure how much time passes; it's all he can do to catch quick breaths between thrusts, a task that gets harder when the pace increases. Then Mauga withdraws suddenly, cock pulsing with every expulsion, most of which lands in Lucio's still-open mouth, his jaw momentarily locked. The rest paints his face, a vulgar work of art that apparently amuses Mauga, who laughs as he drops Lucio to the floor.

"I had more planned, but, well..." he chuckles darkly, heading for the door. "I didn't expect the little frog to be quite so cute. I've got some other things to do, but I'll be back. I'd recommend  _ preparing _ yourselves for the next round."

"Mauga!" Baptiste roars, lunging after him. The door closes between them and Baptiste runs into it with a furious bellow, slamming his fists against it.

The combination of the hollow thump and Mauga laughter echoes ominously through the room long after he's gone, broken only by Lucio's ragged, gasping coughs. Baptiste glares at the door a moment longer before limping over to Lucio and dropping to his knees with a pained grunt.

"I- I'm so sorry... I didn't... I couldn't-"   
  


"Chill, man," Lucio manages between coughs, wiping his chin and grimacing at the mess on his hand. "Not the worst thing that's happened to me." Clearing his throat a few times, he sits up, rubbing at his neck and working his jaw. "Not like you coulda stopped it anyway..."

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place!" Baptiste exclaims, a crack of frustration in his tone. "It's my fault you're in this mess..."

"Hey, relax," Lucio says hoarsely, gripping Baptiste's shoulder. "Nobody died. To be completely honest, I thought that's what was going to happen; if it's a choice between that and dying, I'll take  _ that _ any day."

"But-"

"Baptiste. Seriously. That wasn't about me; he was tryna make  _ you _ feel helpless. I was just the tool he used." Lucio makes a face and swipes more cum from his cheek, smacking his lips in distaste. " _ Really _ used, all pun intended."

"Wh- How can you joke about this?" Baptiste asks incredulously, staring at him. Lucio sighs, scrubbing the rest of his face and wiping his hands on his pants.

"Because that's how I deal," he answers, straightforward. "I'm probably gonna have nightmares or something from this, and I guarantee I'm not gonna be able to go near Reinhardt for a while, but I can't just... bottle it up; I'll go crazy."

"So you joke about it?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" Lucio shrugs. "Have a meltdown? Start screaming about how unjust life is and how I don't deserve this? What's that gonna do? It's not gonna get us out of here. Certainly not gonna stop your friend from doing whatever he's got planned."

"He's not my friend," Baptiste growls, casting a glare at the door. "Not anymore. Not for a long time."

"Whatever," Lucio dismisses, rolling his eyes. "Point is, pessimism is useless. If I've got a choice, I'm gonna try and see the bright side of things."

"And if there is no bright side?"

"Then I'll make one." The smile that curls his lips is small, but genuine, and Baptiste sits back, processing that. After a moment, Lucio reaches out and takes his hand. "Hey. It's not your fault. Okay, maybe it is, but I don't  _ blame _ you. Bad things happen to good people all the time; that's just how it is. I can't fault you for that."

Baptiste huffs in response, not really agreeing but too worn and in pain to bother arguing. He does cover Lucio's hand on his own, though, grateful at least for the attempt.

"Whatever happened to 'You don't belong at Overwatch'?" he asks instead, glancing up to meet the musician's gaze.

"Ehh, sorry," Lucio says sheepishly, wincing apologetically. "I won't deny that I've thought it a time or two, but I didn't mean it. Especially not now that I know you're the reason we're all still alive when we should've lost some people here and there. And after that..." he waves at the door. "You're a good guy, Baptiste. Just... maybe be a little nicer to the team?"

"I... I didn't realise I was being offensive," Baptiste admits. "I've always been sarcastic. It's... It used to be my best feature."

"Nah, I don't believe that for one second," Lucio smiles, and pokes at his chest. "That... is your best feature. You just gotta wear it out  _ here _ more." He taps lightly on Baptiste's upper arm. "The more they get to see of your heart, the more they'll like you; I guarantee it."

-⚯-

A muffled shout wakes Baptiste, and he shoots upright, wincing at the flare of pain through his back and side. Lucio shifts in his sleep not far away, clearly panicked but too deep in REM to realise it's a dream. Baptiste rolls onto his knees and grips Lucio's shoulder, shaking him.

"Lucio. Lucio, wake up; it's just a dream. Lucio!"

The musician jolts sharply, flailing and grabbing at his arm. He looks around wildly, searching, and only relaxes when he sees that Baptiste is the only other person in the room. Panting like he's just finished a marathon, he falls back, covering his face with one arm and not letting go of Baptiste with the other. His hand is trembling, so Baptiste doesn't stop him.

"How bad was it?" he asks quietly, the knowledge that this is his fault, whatever Lucio says, pressing on his chest.

"Bad," Lucio answers just as quietly, voice still hoarse from the abuse but even worse because of whatever he dreamt. A moment of tense silence passes before he lowers his arm and looks at Baptiste, resigned acceptance in his dark gaze. "He's gonna do worse, isn't he?"

Baptiste looks away, but his lack of a reply is answer enough and the tremble in Lucio's grip increases.

"Hey. Look at me." It's the last thing Baptiste wants to do, but he obeys, feeling small under the intensity of Lucio's stare. "Promise me you're not gonna break. I can do this, but I have to know I'm not doing it for nothing. Promise me you're not gonna let him get to you."

"I can't ask you to do that," Baptiste whispers brokenly, hating how much he wants to accept.

"You're not asking," Lucio says sharply, digging his fingers into Baptiste's arm. "I'm telling. Now  _ promise me _ , Baptiste."

There's a moment of quiet while Baptiste fights himself, the part of him that's trying to be better protesting while his cowardice screams for him to take advantage of the offer now.

"... _ Mwen pwomèt _ ," he mutters finally, despising himself for his weakness. "I promise."

"Good," Lucio sighs, letting go finally and rubbing his face with both hands.

He takes a breath, gaze skipping aimlessly across the ceiling for a minute while he readies himself for whatever the day is going to hold. It must be subconscious when he starts humming quietly, a soothing melody that begins hesitant and broken, and grows stronger and more intentional. With every passing second, he looks more and more at ease with everything, and Baptiste marvels at his strength, watching him with quiet admiration.

"It's not forever, you know," Lucio says suddenly, tucking his arms behind his head. He smiles when Baptiste looks at him. "Overwatch won't leave us here. It may take a while, but they'll come for us. I know it."

"You have more faith than me, brother," Baptiste mumbles, moving back into the corner. He considers laying down, but there's no way he's going to be able to get anything more than the fitful doze he already caught.

"...Hey, Baptiste?" He looks over reactively to see Lucio sitting up and fidgeting noticeably. "Do you... er... Do you know how to... you know... prepare?"

There's something surprisingly adorable about the normally confident musician flushed and embarrassed like a schoolgirl confessing to her first crush, and that's a thought that Baptiste flicks out of his brain as quickly as possible.

"I take it you're not gay," he notes, unable to help himself. Surprisingly, instead of getting huffy or defensive, Lucio actually laughs, relaxing a little.

"Nah, man; I'm ace. I mean, I know the theory of it ― gotta clean and... stretch, I guess ― but I never thought I'd have to put it into practice, you know?" He can't look at Baptiste, and once again, Baptiste has to block out the thought that it's rather cute.

"I'd offer to show you, but I'd rather not make things awkward," he says, realising only after the fact that it sounds like a flirt.

Goddess, he's losing it. Flirting with someone who, by all rights, should hate his guts, and in a prison cell, no less.

"Too late," Lucio grins, still embarrassed but apparently willing to laugh at himself. "Can't get much more awkward than this."

"Care to bet?" Baptiste asks, cocking a brow at the musician. Part of him wants to stop perpetuating this, mostly because this is neither the time nor the place for it, but every time he thinks he's gone too far, Lucio just takes it in stride and gives as good as he gets. And anyway, it seems to be helping the musician's mood, so Baptiste uses that as an excuse and leans forward. "You're not going to find it more awkward being naked with me in the shower?"

"Would we even both fit?" Lucio laughs. "Have you seen the size of that thing? I'm honestly amazed either one of us can fit on our own."

Leave it to Lucio to find the humour even now...

"Guess I'll have to stand in the door," Baptiste hums, standing and holding out a hand to help Lucio up.

"Oh. You're serious?" the musician asks, faltering. Baptiste hesitates, wondering if he missed the cue that it was all a joke.

"Yes..." he says slowly. "Unless you weren't...?"

"I- No, that's-" Lucio stops himself and starts over, taking his hand and using it to stand. "Thank you."

He starts undressing and, to avoid making him uncomfortable, Baptiste goes to the narrow door that separates the barren room from the minimal bathroom, which only contains a steel toilet beside a matching sink and a showerhead over a drain. Turning on the shower, he tests the water, but can't get it hotter than lukewarm.

"It's a little cool," he warns, "and there's no towel; you'll have to dry off with your clothes."

"At least we get plumbing," Lucio chuckles. "Don't know about you, but I go nuts if I can't shower at least every other day."

Baptiste steps out of the tiny bathroom to give him room to enter, and passes a quick glance over him as he does. He has a nice body, Baptiste realises; slender, but toned, not an ounce of fat to be seen. Baptiste would take his time with a body like that.

No; not the time.

"You don't seem very self-conscious for someone who's asexual," he notes, inadvertently speaking aloud the thought he used to distract himself as he leans against the doorframe.

"Well first of all, it's just a shower," Lucio laughs, tipping his head back under the spray. "I'm no stranger to open showers and changing in locker rooms and all that. And second, it's not like I'm sex-repulsed." Baptiste frowns, confused, but Lucio notices and answers before he can ask. "Ace is a whole spectrum, you know; some are totally against everything to do with sex and don't want anything to do with it ever, while others, like me, aren't really against it, they just aren't interested. Like, sure, if my partner wants to do the deed, I'm not gonna say no, I'm just not gonna be the one to ask for it, you know?"

"Not really, no," Baptiste answers honestly while Lucio uses the soap bar from the sink to wash himself.

"Okay, think of it this way. You masturbate, right?"

Baptiste mentally throws up his hands; every time he thinks he understands how Lucio thinks, the musician does something that throws everything he thinks he knows right out the window.

"Sure," he says, not really sure what else to say.

"That kind of satisfaction, being able to enjoy it without anything or anyone else, that's all I need. In a relationship, the emotional intimacy is far more important to me than the physical intimacy. I'll have sex with my partner, no problem, but to me it's the same as masturbation, physically speaking. The important part of the relationship is the bond we share, the time we spend together, the fact that we can be there for each other no matter what. Does that make sense?"

"I... suppose," Baptiste says hesitantly. Lucio pauses, basking in the spray of water while he considers.

"I guess the simplest way to put it is that sex is alright, but it doesn't make or break a relationship with me."

"That's fair," Baptiste allows, understanding that at least.

"So, uh... How do I...?" Lucio blushes faintly, turning his hips a bit and glancing subtly over his shoulder.

"Show me how you normally clean the area," Baptiste says, reminding himself to keep it professional. Well, as professional as something like this can be.

Blushing more visibly now, Lucio turns completely and braces an arm on the wall, arching his back forward with incredible flexibility, which puts his ass on display in a way that should be illegal. Without meaning to, Baptiste finds himself staring while the musician fights his self-consciousness to soap up his hand and scrub between his cheeks.

"Get inside, but don't worry about it too much," Baptiste instructs, tearing his gaze away to avoid embarrassing himself. "We don't exactly have everything needed, and it's not like he deserves it anyway."

"What else is needed?" Lucio asks. The faint breathlessness of his tone goes straight to Baptiste's gut and he struggles to maintain an even voice.

"If you're really trying to get completely clean, an enema is the way to go. But I wouldn't suggest it unless you know what you're doing, because it can and does hurt if you do it wrong."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lucio laughs lightly. "Is that enough?"

"Want me to check?" The words are off Baptiste's tongue before he even realises he was thinking them, and for a moment, he's too startled by his own audacity to take them back.

"Um... Okay." He accepts so quickly that it puts Baptiste off balance and he struggles for several seconds to decide between giving in to his base desires or retracting an offer he shouldn't have made in the first place. Lucio doesn't seem to notice his hesitance, placing both hands against the wall and waiting patiently.

Baptiste's gaze tracks along the dip of the musician's spine, from the base of his slender neck to the curve of his firm ass; a droplet of water hitting his cheek pulls him from blank admiration and he stops a mere step away from the spray. From Lucio.

Well, he's here now; might as well follow through.

Unable to resist, he grazes his fingers along one cheek before gripping Lucio's hip. The musician stiffens but, to his credit, doesn't protest or move away. In fact, he arches his back further, hips rolling forward, and it puts him on display so beautifully that Baptiste bites his lips to stop himself from moaning.

_ Just check and be done with it, _ he reminds himself.  _ Don't make this harder on him than it already is. _

Being careful not to force it, he presses a finger inside Lucio, too focused on the sensation and keeping himself from getting lost in it to care that his clothes are fast dampening under the splatter of water off Lucio's skin. The musician takes a sharp breath, tensing up, and he goes still.

"Easy, Luc," he coaxes reactively, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over the slight dip at the back of Lucio's hip. His tone is unintentionally low and sultry when he adds, "I need you to relax for me."

"Sorry..." Lucio mumbles sheepishly, pressing his forehead against the wall and breathing steadily to calm down and relax.

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Baptiste assures, inadvertently twisting in a way that makes Lucio hiss and tighten again, jolting. "Shit; I didn't-"

"What was  _ that _ ?" the musician gasps, glancing back at him with wide eyes.

"...You've... never... hit your prostate before...?" Baptiste questions slowly, baffled by his reaction.

"I've never had anything inside before," Lucio replies. "I mean, I knew it was a thing, but... That's what it feels like? No wonder people are obsessed with it!"

"You're... a virgin?" Baptiste asks, horror rising.

"Well, I mean... I've had sex before," Lucio says, looking away with another flush. "Just... not like this."

"I can't let you do this," Baptiste says shortly, stepping back. Lucio falters and turns half around.

"But- Wa-Why?"

"You're a virgin."

"Not exactly," he argues.

"You can't do this; you can't give Mauga your first."

"Dude, seriously, chill; it's no big deal. My first was a messy fuck in a tiny motel room as a teenager with a prostitute because my friends thought it would be funny to set me up on a blind date with who I thought was just an actress."

"This isn't the same!" Baptiste persists, frustrated. "Mauga won't be gentle; he  _ wants _ it to hurt. He's sadistic and psychotic, and he'll do whatever it takes to tear you apart to get to me."

"I know that," Lucio replies patiently. "Why do you think I'm preparing?" Baptiste can't find an answer to that right away, and Lucio reaches over to turn off the water, a heavy, awkward silence falling between them for a moment before Lucio sighs and steps closer. "Look, I'm scared. Terrified, actually. I really,  _ really _ don't want to do this..."

"So don't," Baptiste says firmly.

"But I know that this won't last forever," Lucio continues, like he didn't say anything. He touches Baptiste's arm, trying to be reassuring. "I know Overwatch is coming for us, so I can handle anything I have to to make it out on the other side. As long as I know you can stay strong, so can I."

"You shouldn't have to," Baptiste mutters bitterly, unable to look him in the face. "Because of me, you're losing something precious to someone whose only goal is to break you."

"...Then  _ you _ take it." He looks up sharply, and Lucio looks away just as quickly, flushed scarlet all the way down to his chest.

"What?" His voice cracks. Lucio is fidgeting again, shifting his weight back and forth uneasily.

"I said...  _ you _ take it." The musician swallows visibly, but Baptiste's brain is struggling to accept that he just heard what he thinks he just heard. Lucio must be overwhelmed by the lack of a response, because he ducks his head and draws in on himself. "Nevermind; forget I said anything."

When he tries to slip past, Baptiste reacts without thought, catching his arm and pulling him back around to pin him against the wall.

"Why me?" he demands. Lucio's blush is dark enough to make the medic in Baptiste mildly concerned, but somehow he manages a half grin.

"You see anybody else in this cell?"

The joke is strained, forced, and Baptiste doesn't bite, staring intently and waiting for a proper answer. It takes a moment for Lucio's grin to fade, and he breathes in, meeting Baptiste's gaze with surprising confidence.

"I trust you," he says softly. "And I don't say that lightly. My trust has to be earned, but in the last twenty-four hours, you've saved my life, protected me from someone who used to be close to you, and most importantly, you've shown me the real you. Whatever happens, we're in this together."

Baptiste has to process the depth of that, and while his mind is occupied, his hand moves toward Lucio's cheek, a motion he stops before its completion, dropping his hand.

"Are you sure you want that?"

"Not really?" Lucio admits. Baptiste notices then that he's pressed up against the wall, palms flat against it. "But I don't have much of a choice, do I? If I have to do it, I'd rather it be with you."

-⚯-

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?" Lucio asks, feigning ignorance while his stomach flips in his gut and his heart lurches to his throat. It takes everything he has not to interrupt the slow, firm movements of his hands massaging the tight, bruised muscles of Baptiste's back.

"You know what," the older man scolds, turning his head to glance over his shoulder and then resting his temple against his forearms. "Giving me your first."

"It wasn't exactly my first..." Lucio mutters, heat flooding up his neck and into his face.

"Lucio..."

It's hard to say what he really thinks when he knows how complicated it'll make everything. Baptiste was gentle, far more so than expected, and it made Lucio realise just how sensitive he is. How much it must have killed him to betray everyone he knew for an organisation full of people who don't like or even outright hate him. The suppressed agony was so clear in every soft, coaxing touch; so unlike the quick, clinical gentility of his medical practice.

That, more than the physical pleasure, was an iron brand searing Lucio's chest, and when he crested, he all but screamed Baptiste's name.

Something has changed between them, and Lucio hasn't dared to address it. Neither had Baptiste, until this moment.

"No," he answers finally, voice soft.

"I think you do," Baptiste claims gently. He grunts when Lucio's palms dig a little harder than intended into the half-healed bruise.

"Sorry," Lucio mutters. He withdraws when Baptiste sits up, looking away, but the combat medic doesn't let him leave, reaching across to grab his hand.

"Lucio, you've been on eggshells since then. If you regret it, tell me and I'll do whatever you want to make amends."

"I meant what I said; if I had to do it, I wanted it to be you."

"But you didn't have to," Baptiste points out quietly. "Mauga hasn't come back. It's been four days." Lucio doesn't reply, but can't gather the courage to look at him either. "Lucio, if you-"

"I don't regret it," Lucio blurts, fidgeting under Baptiste's stare. "I just..."

"...Didn't want it?" Baptiste supplies.

"No, I- It's not that I didn't want- I don't. Didn't; I do. Want- I mean..." Lucio stutters, struggling to get out the words that he's scared of saying. It isn't working, so he stops speaking for a moment, taking a breath and resetting himself to try again, this time picking out his words carefully before he lets them off his tongue. "I don't want sex. I don't particularly like it in the first place, and while the pleasure is a nice treat, it's not my thing. But I don't regret my decision either, because of you. I..." He hesitates for a split second, gaze fixed on Baptiste's hand covering his, and then blurts it all out, burning with embarrassment. "I've never felt like that before, and I don't mean physically. But I'm scared of what that means, for me, for  _ us _ , especially here and now; neither of us can afford any sort of weakness, anything that can be exploited. It's bad enough that Mauga wants to use me to get to you; I can't- I can't make it worse."

Baptiste's grip on his hand tightens, and he starts reaching for Lucio's cheek, but the door lock clunks open, and he immediately lets go, leaping to his feet and moving between Lucio and the door. A good half dozen Talon soldiers flood in, swarming Baptiste before he can react. Lucio scrambles up to help, only for a massive hand to catch his arm and wrench it up behind his back.

"Not so fast, little frog," Mauga chuckles as he cries out.

"Mauga! Let him go!" Baptiste bellows, trying to wrench himself free of the soldiers binding his arms and legs. Mauga pretends to consider while they finish, dropping him unceremoniously to the floor and moving back.

"No," he says casually. "Out." The soldiers file out as quickly and systematically as they entered, leaving Mauga alone with the prisoners.

"Stop this, Mauga, please!" Baptiste pleads, straining against his bonds. Lucio takes the opportunity to calm himself, steadying his breaths and clearing his thoughts of everything but the next step. A task that proves difficult with Baptiste's continued begging. "If our friendship ever meant anything to you, please,  _ please _ , don't do this!"

"Too late, Jean," Mauga growls, suddenly cold. "Two years too late. I'm gonna take great pleasure in breaking you bit by bit and remaking you the way  _ I _ want."

Baptiste thrashes as he all but throws Lucio up against the wall and pins him there, making sure that Baptiste has a good view. Lucio closes his eyes and takes deep, even breaths, not daring to let himself think while Mauga disrobes him, greedy hands groping everywhere. It makes every inch of skin crawl and itch, discomfort gripping every nerve ending and twisting painfully. He flinches away from Mauga's hands reactively, unable to stop himself, and earns a strong grip in his hair that yanks painfully, reining him under control.

There's no way to describe the agony that spears Lucio's lower back when Mauga thrusts a finger inside him, rough and demanding, searching out the sensitive nub that sets every nerve on fire.

Under Baptiste's gentle, cautious care, the explosion of heat was delicious, addicting even; under Mauga's vicious ministrations, the feeling is sickly, molten, rotten... But he's still human, and the biological reaction is a sluggish gathering of sharp warmth low in his belly.

Mauga works him open, each finger threatening to tear already, and nowhere near the size of the intrusion to come. It hurts, hips aching with ghostly promise, taint screaming at the abuse that really isn't mitigated by the collection of spit Mauga is using for lube... But more than the physical pain, Lucio's entire soul is cracking beneath the weight of the mental and emotional agony.

It's bad enough he's being used. Bad enough that his body is no longer his own, that it's being so callously stolen from him. But the knowledge that this has nothing to do with him threatens to break him; he could almost understand if it was the fanatical desperation of someone blinded with lust for him that precipitated this, but it isn't, and the fact that he's nothing more than a tool, an object, a  _ thing _ , to be used to break someone else tears at his self-worth, shredding it with every thrust.

Tears are streaming down his cheeks by the time Mauga withdraws, leaving him gaping, open and raw from the abuse, but he steadily refuses to make a sound.

Until the head of Mauga's cock breaches him. The pain that bursts up his spine like liquid lightning punches a broken cry from his lips that trails into a ragged whine ending in a choked sob.

Mauga says something, a taunt, a cruel jab, but Lucio can't hear it over the buzzing in his head as he fights not to cry from the pain in all its forms that promises to be his undoing.

The hard curl of the crown presses against Lucio's prostate, and the unwanted heat in his gut bursts, spreading through him in an instant, a fiery wave of muted, tainted pleasure. His throat hurts from whatever sound he can't quite hold back, and Mauga's laughter echoes distantly in his ears as he comes down from an unsatisfying high.

There's no mercy in the savage thrust that slams him against the wall, nor in the brutal rhythm that follows; Mauga seems intent on splitting him in two, and at this point, Lucio can't bring himself to care. He tries to ride out the pain of abused, oversensitive nerves being tortured further, but his brain is going fuzzy, too overwhelmed to function.

He whites out several times, and there's a certain relief to it when the heavy feeling of being filled precedes the sensation of falling. It's like being so lightheaded that you pass out, and Lucio is more than happy to welcome the darkness, only to be denied by persistent shouts.

Reluctantly, he tries to clear his mind, forcing limp, numb muscles to cooperate enough to drag his arms up so he can struggle to his knees and elbows. His head is pounding, but that's nothing compared to the agony ripping apart his lower body, and he can't stop the whimper that escapes.

"Oh thank Goddess..." The voice that reaches him is muffled and distant, but familiar and friendly, which warms Lucio significantly, helping him clear the muddiness of his thoughts.

Baptiste is trying to worm his way closer, still trussed up like a bull, and Lucio drags himself over, unable to stop the soft noises of pain that make it past his lips as every movement sends a new flare of pain through him. When he reaches Baptiste, he runs a hand over the rope to find a knot and half lays on top of him to get at it, plucking and tugging with numb fingers until the knot loosens enough to undo it entirely. That's enough, apparently, because Baptiste pushes him off and struggles out of the ropes, tossing them aside as he stands. With urgent tenderness, he scoops Lucio off the ground and carries him into the bathroom, turning on the shower as warm as he can get it and cradling Lucio against him when he sits against the wall beneath the spray of water. He doesn't seem to care that his clothes are soaking through, even when Lucio makes a small noise of protest and grasps at his shirt.

"I can dry them later," Baptiste dismisses, a broken sort of relief in his tone as he holds Lucio close against his chest.

For a long time, neither says or does anything. Lucio would have expected that any touch would set him off on a complete meltdown, but his body curls into Baptiste's warmth like flower petals toward the sun; his gentle strokes along Lucio's arm are calming, soothing, just what he needs right now.

"Don't think about it," Baptiste says quietly after a long, long time. Lucio surfaces from the light doze he slipped into, and tips his head to look up. "Your feelings. Don't think about it. Focus on surviving, and when Overwatch rescues us, we can talk."

It doesn't really make sense, what he's saying, but Lucio's in no state to think about it right now; all he wants is to sleep off the pain and the trauma. Without a word, he nuzzles into Baptiste's shoulder and settles in to drift off again.

-⚯-

Another week passes, and Mauga visits twice more on successive days, leaving Lucio unable to even move. Baptiste does everything he can to keep the musician comfortable, cradling him often and massaging his lower back and limbs carefully. He even feeds the musician by hand when it looks like he isn't interested in eating what little food they're given in order to stay alive.

Lucio doesn't talk. He hasn't said a word since the first time Mauga took him, only grunting or making small noises in response to Baptiste's questions. He does hum, though; quiet, calming melodies that fill the room with tentative warmth. Baptiste hasn't heard them before, and wonders if they're songs from before his time at Overwatch, or if Lucio came up with them now, as his own little rebellion to combat the pain.

Because he won't talk, Baptiste talks instead, more than he's ever really talked before; he fills long sleepless hours recounting his entire life, reminiscing about the most beautiful places he's ever visited, eventually even revealing his every regret and misgiving about working with Talon. Lucio barely ever responds, but he at least seems to pay attention, and when he's humming, the tune always changes to match the story.

If Lucio is making up the tunes on the spot, he's far more talented than Baptiste realised; Lucio doesn't need a medical degree to heal someone, and Baptiste finds himself desperately hoping the musician will be able to heal himself as well.

He's counting the days, waiting impatiently for Overwatch to come for them, and every day that passes, he fears Lucio's music is losing a tiny bit of hope. He starts focusing his stories on his time at Overwatch, and how jealous he was that everyone had found a home there. He does his best to remind Lucio of everyone's loyalty and determination, and struggles to maintain hope for both of them; Lucio is holding on for now, but Baptiste worries that the next time Mauga takes him, he'll lose his grip and fall apart.

He can't let it happen. Out of sight of Lucio, he breaks off a portion of the soap bar and uses his nails to whittle it down to a surprisingly sharp point; the next time Mauga comes, Baptiste will kill him, or die trying.

It's been just over two weeks since their capture when the cell door opens next, and Baptiste slips the soap dagger from his clothes when he stands, ready to face his old friend and most hated enemy one last time. Lucio flinches away from the door, but slowly stands, clutching at his shirt with shaking hands.

The massive shadow in the doorway, backlit by the light of the corridor beyond because the light has been dimmed in the cell, presumably for night, goes still, and Baptiste panics for a moment, worried that Mauga somehow knows what he has planned.

But no soldiers barge in to tie him up again, and his worry is fast fading into confusion, and then jumping back to fear when the man enters. He readies himself to lunge, already eying the neck area and hoping he can ram the point of his makeshift dagger through Mauga's jugular before he can react.

"Lucio, Baptiste... You're alive!"

That is not Mauga. Baptiste falters, taken aback by the relieved voice of none other than Reinhardt Wilhelm. He isn't wearing his distinctive armour, which made his silhouette far different than usual; instead he's dressed in something more akin to a ninja outfit, including cloth wrapped shoes, and his voice has never been quieter, a miracle in and of itself.

"Reinhardt?" Baptiste isn't entirely sure he isn't just hallucinating, so he doesn't let down his guard until Reinhardt tugs down his mask and breaks out in a relieved grin.

"I found them, cell 3A-1," he says, touching his ear. "Tell Tracer to fire up the ship. Genji... Okay, but don't take too long." Dropping his hand, he steps back and glances down the hall. "We need to move fast; are you ready?"

"Wh- No; Lucio is hurt."

"Then I'll carry him; we don't have a lot of time."

"No," Baptiste repeats, reorienting himself and slipping the soap knife back into his pocket as he faces a trembling Lucio. The musician's gaze is unfocused, distant, and tears are gathering on his lashes. Baptiste reaches up and gently brushes them away. "Luc, I'm going to carry you, okay? We're getting out of here."

"I can walk," Lucio whispers, taking his hand and gripping tightly.

"We need to go quickly," Baptiste warns, shifting his grip to lace their fingers together. "Are you sure you can keep up?" Lucio nods, still clutching his shirt, and Baptiste can't help himself; he leans forward and kisses Lucio's forehead. "We're going home. Just don't let go of my hand, okay?"

If he was going to respond, he doesn't get a chance; Reinhardt hisses at them to move and waves them into the corridor. Somehow they manage to make it out of the compound without attracting attention, and Baptiste dares to hope they're home free when a klaxon suddenly blares through the night, red lights flashing everywhere.

"What happened?" Reinhardt demands, shoving Baptiste and Lucio against the wall and peeking around the corner. Whatever answer he gets, he clearly doesn't like it, because he scowls and mutters something under his breath in German. "We're out of the compound and two minutes from the ship; don't try to hold them off, just run!" Turning to Baptiste and Lucio, he points toward a hilly, forested area opposite the direction of the town at the edge of which the compound sits. "Go! Don't slow down, don't turn back; I'm taking the rear."

Baptiste doesn't need to be told twice; tightening his grip on Lucio's hand, he bolts. He smacks his face multiple times on branches, and does his best to hold them out of the way for Lucio, but all that matters is getting the hell out, and now.

"Look out!" Lucio's warning only gives time for Baptiste to look around wildly before something crashes into his side, wrenching his hand from the musician's as he's carried into a tree and dropped to the ground.

"You're not getting away, Jean!" Mauga roars furiously, kicking his side hard enough for something to crack. He yelps and rolls quickly out of the way of the next kick, scrambling to his feet.

Lucio shouts and leaps onto Mauga's back, arms wrapping tightly around his neck in just the right position to make him choke and stagger. Taking advantage of the moment, Baptiste fumbles for the soap dagger, only to find it broken in half in his pocket; the sharp end is barely as long as his thumb. He falters, and Mauga manages to get a good enough grip on Lucio to rip him off and fling him aside.

"Lucio!" Baptiste tries to run to him, only for Mauga to block his path with a vicious, almost insane grin. Before he can say anything, however, Reinhardt tackles him, and the two roll around in the dirt, fighting for dominance. Baptiste darts past them as Lucio drags himself to his feet with a whimper.

"Keep going," Baptiste says, grabbing his arm and pushing him in the direction they were supposed to go. "I'm right behind you."

Lucio hesitates, but starts moving, albeit slowly, and that's good enough; Baptiste puts the sharp end of the soap dagger between his knuckles and hurries back toward the wrestling giants.

"Reinhardt!" he shouts. The Crusader falters, glancing up, and almost loses his grip on Mauga, who thrashes like a wild animal, even trying to claw at his captor's face. Reinhardt avoids it, wrapping himself around his foe with surprising dexterity, and immobilising him just long enough for Baptiste to run over and punch Mauga's side, which plunges the soap hopefully into a kidney or even his stomach.

Bellowing in pain, Mauga wrenches free of Reinhardt, who immediately scoops up a handful of dirt and flings it into Mauga's face before lunging to his feet and tossing Baptiste over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. He takes off toward the ship, leaving Mauga screaming in rage and pain and frustration, and Baptiste holds his breath that they'll make it out safely.

Lucio is hovering beside the ramp, Tracer trying to coax him inside, and he breathes a sigh of relief when Reinhardt sets Baptiste on his feet.

"You made it," he says, throwing his arms around Baptiste's shoulders in a tight hug. Baptiste wraps his arms around the musician's waist, squeezing in return, and then pushes him back toward the ship.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

"Seconded," Mercy chirps from the top of the ramp, her pistol at the ready as she scans the trees behind them.

"Is Genji back yet?" Reinhardt asks, striding up the ramp.

"Present, Lieutenant," the ninja says, appearing beside Mercy. "I managed to retrieve their belongings."

"Good," Reinhardt nods. "Make sure it's strapped down for the trip. Mercy, check them for tracking devices and fix up their injuries. Tracer... take us home."

"You got it, love!" Tracer blinks into the cockpit, and the ship lifts off before the ramp even finishes closing.

Lucio takes Baptiste's hand when he sits beside the musician, threading their fingers together, and as Mercy begins her inspection, they both finally relax for the first time in a fortnight. They're safe, and they're going home.

-⚯-

After Lucio fell asleep against his shoulder, Baptiste explained to Mercy in private tones everything that happened, particularly to Lucio. She listened with clinical patience and took notes, but Baptiste got the impression she'd be getting Lucio's side of the story as well.

It reminded him that not everyone was as accepting as Lucio, and by the time the ship touches down in the hangar, his walls are back up. He wakes Lucio, but leaves his seat before the musician can say anything.

The entire base has gathered, and everyone seems to be holding their breath when the ramp lowers. Baptiste tries not to take it personally when no one reacts until Lucio steps to the top of the ramp beside him.

"Lucio!" Hana is the first to break away, bolting up the ramp to embrace him. The rest follow at their own paces, but none of them greet Baptiste. He sidesteps past them, hopping off the edge of the ramp and wincing as it causes a spike of pain through his ribs.

"Augustin." Pausing, he looks up. Genji crouches at the edge of the ramp and holds out his gun and boots and the rest of the things that were taken from him when he was captured.

"Thank you," he says simply, taking his stuff. Genji grabs his wrist when he starts to pull away.

"What happened to Lucio?" the ninja asks. It's almost a demand, and yet again, it's another reminder that he's still not welcome here.

"Ask him yourself," Baptiste replies coolly. "I earned his trust; I'm not breaking it for  _ you _ ." He yanks his arm free.

"If you did anything to him..." Genji doesn't finish the threat, but Baptiste doesn't care. He ignores the ninja, taking his things to the medical bay to fix himself up.

He's just finished binding his ribs when Mercy and Lucio enter the bay, the former keeping a herd of people at bay and threatening bodily harm to anyone who enters without permission. Lucio is trembling faintly, but the moment he sees Baptiste, he breathes a sigh of relief and goes straight to his side.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, brushing a hand lightly over the bandages around Baptiste's torso.

"I should be asking you that," Baptiste huffs, a small smile creeping across his face. "Overwhelmed yet?"

"I don't think it's hit me yet," Lucio admits grimly. "That... we're safe..." He wraps his arms around his middle, looking away. "I keep thinking it's a dream, and I'm gonna wake up, and we're still gonna be in that cell, and..."

"Hey," Baptiste faces him, gripping his shoulders. "We're safe now. Mauga will never touch you again." Lucio shivers under his touch, stepping closer to lean his forehead on Baptiste's shoulder.

"Promise?" he whispers.

" _ Mwen pwomèt _ ." Baptiste allows himself to kiss the musician's temple and then nudges him back. "Let Mercy check up on you, okay?"

"Okay." Lucio moves away, and Baptiste refuses to acknowledge how cold he feels without the musician's warmth.

He feels a little better when Lucio turns on the sound system in the bay and starts playing one of his quieter, more jazzy songs, and he even lets the music get into his hips while he checks over his gear. Lucio laughs softly while Mercy prepares some things, and Baptiste grins at him, dancing a little more blatantly to make him laugh again. It works, and Lucio almost sounds like himself again as he cackles at Baptiste's moves.

"You need dance lessons, man," Lucio snickers.

"Happy to take you up on that offer any time," Baptiste smirks back.

"Sorry to interrupt," Mercy says, clearing her throat meaningfully. Baptiste's humour fades and he turns back to his work while Lucio looks down sheepishly.

She starts with simple questions, and asks him to strip for a proper inspection. Baptiste can't help but glance over his shoulder at that, just in time for Lucio's gaze to jump to him. Mercy notices and casts a wary look in Baptiste's direction, touching Lucio's arm lightly.

"If you don't want him here, I can ask him to leave," she promises sympathetically.

"No, I- I want him here," Lucio says quickly. "I just... H-How much did he tell you? About what happened..."

"...He said a former colleague of his raped you," Mercy says as gently as possible. Baptiste doesn't dare look away from Lucio, who flinches slightly and nods, swallowing hard.

"I- I don't want to be naked," Lucio admits softly.

"Fully, or at all?" Mercy clarifies. "Will you be okay with just removing enough for me to check the damage?"

Lucio's gaze skips pleadingly to Baptiste's and he puts his tools down immediately, stepping across the room to stand on the other side of the musician from Mercy, who eyes him cautiously. Ignoring her, he takes Lucio's hand and threads their fingers together.

"I'm right here for you, Luc," he assures.

"Okay," Lucio nods, squeezing Baptiste's hand before letting go and standing. Taking a breath, he faces Mercy. "How do you want me, doc?"

"Either on your back or bent over; whichever is less traumatic for you."

It's very clearly a struggle for Lucio to drop his pants and lay down on the exam table, but he relaxes visibly when Baptiste pulls the nearest chair over to sit beside him and take his hand. Baptiste wraps both hands around Lucio's and watches him for any sign of panic while Mercy conducts her inspection. When Lucio tenses and whines, he hushes the musician and quietly reminds him that he's safe, he's home.

Then Baptiste just speaks, like he did in the cell, talking aimlessly about the places he's heard about around Gibraltar that he wants to visit now that they're back, and Lucio almost seems to tune out the inspection, listening to Baptiste and watching his expression. It makes Baptiste feel good; makes him feel like he's finally welcome somewhere, even if it's just in Lucio's presence.

Honestly, where else would he want to be?

When Mercy announces that the inspection is over, Baptiste quickly scoops up Lucio's pants and hands them to him, helping him stand. Mercy keeps an eye on them while she jots down some notes, but Baptiste can't bring himself to care after Lucio smiles gratefully at him.

In fact, Baptiste is floating in the clouds for the rest of the day, which he spends mostly in solitude in the medical bay while Lucio sleeps in one of the cubicles where his vitals can be monitored and recorded. Once all of his own gear has been thoroughly checked, cleaned, repaired, and upgraded, he gathers Lucio's equipment and starts the same process, although he refrains from attempting to upgrade anything without the musician's approval.

To his surprise, Mercy brings him a late lunch around mid-afternoon.

"You shouldn't neglect to eat," she notes, setting the tray of food on the end of the table he's using.

"Oh, thank you." Scooting his chair over, Baptiste wipes his hands on a rag and starts devouring the food, only now realising how long it's been since he last ate. He glances uncertainly toward Lucio's cubicle, but Mercy raises a staying hand.

"Don't wake him; if even half the things you told me are true, nightmares are going to cut down on his sleep as it is."

Baptiste sighs agreement, wishing he knew how to stop the nightmares, and returns to his food. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Mercy look over the equipment laid out on the table.

"This is Lucio's stuff, isn't it?" she questions, glancing sidelong at him. He grunts acknowledgement, too busy eating to answer properly. "You're fixing it?" Another grunt, this time accompanied by a nod. She faces him, arms crossed and leaning her hip against the table. "I must confess, I don't understand you. You worked for Talon, but turned around and sought shelter with Overwatch. You're abrasive and insult everyone around you, yet I have never once seen you act in violence. Everyone believes you're only biding your time in order to betray us to Talon, and still somehow Lucio trusts you enough to all but demand you stay in the room. Why?"

She's completely at a loss, and for a moment, Baptiste says nothing, attention seemingly focused on his food. As he swallows, he pushes the tray back a little and sets his hands on the table.

"It wasn't just any former colleague," he says finally, voice low with self-loathing and regret. "Mauga was my friend, my brother; we were close, and we worked well together. But he had a taste for blood that I never acquired. When I decided I no longer wanted that blood on my hands, he looked the other way and let me walk. I stirred up some trouble, and my old team was sent to stop me, including Mauga. I managed to give most of them the slip, but he knew me too well and caught up with me when I tried to escape. He said he wouldn't let me go a second time, so I blew up a bomb in his face and got away. I didn't know if he survived until he stepped into our cell two weeks ago." He knows he isn't going to be endearing himself to her, but he's never been one to lie, and he's not about to start now either. "Lucio... was captured because of me. Everything that happened to him was my fault. He has every right to hate me, to want me gone... Everything Mauga did to him was done to break me; to destroy whatever hope I had from being here at Overwatch. And I couldn't stop him."

"Then  _ why _ does he trust you?" Mercy persists, frustrated.

"...Because before Mauga entered our cell, he found out why I'm really at Overwatch. Why Winston let me into a place I clearly don't belong."

"And why is that?" she asks warily, readying for a fight if it comes. He looks at her, wanting nothing more than to be left alone, but remembering what Lucio said about wearing his heart on his sleeve. So he'll be honest, for Lucio.

"I'm nothing more than an anonymous tip," he says without looking away. She frowns, but then it dawns on her, the same way it dawned on Lucio, and her eyes widen behind her glasses.

"You-"

"Yes."

"All those-"

"Yes."

"Do you realise how many lives you've saved?" she asks, incredulous. "How many  _ times _ you've saved them?"

"Lucio has made a point of reminding me rather consistently," Baptiste scoffs, rolling his eyes and tugging the tray closer again to finish his food.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What's the point?" he shrugs arounds a mouthful. "The last time I tried to join the jokes, I made Hana cry. I'm pretty sure even Master Zenyatta doesn't like me."

"Zen likes everybody," Mercy snorts, mildly amused. "But... I still don't understand why Lucio was so adamant about having you in the room."

Baptiste's appetite flees for the moment, and he picks at his food, struggling to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. He really hopes the heat crawling up his neck as he fidgets isn't noticeable, but knowing his luck, he's probably bright red.

"He understood before I did that Mauga didn't give a shit about him; that everything he did was to get to me. After he forced Lucio the first time, he made a joke about  _ preparing _ for next time. Lucio took it seriously and asked for my help, to... mitigate the damage." He can't say it; he's burning up with embarrassment, but there's no way he can say it.

"You had sex with him," Mercy realises. He groans quietly with shame, covering his face.

"What was I supposed to do?" he mutters, hating himself. "He'd never done it that way before, and he never would have survived going from nothing to  _ Mauga _ without some sort of preparation; I'm nowhere near as big as Mauga, but still far more than anything he'd ever taken..." He trails off, fully expecting Mercy to march out and demand that Winston put him under some kind of house arrest or something for sexual assault.

"He's asexual, you know," she points out, eyeing him closely.

"I know. He explained it to me... I still don't fully understand, but I know enough to get that having to do it four times in two weeks probably put him off it entirely."

"...I think I understand now," Mercy says after a moment of quiet broken only by the gentle, distant plipping of notes from whatever song Lucio chose to sleep to. "And not just why Lucio wanted you in the room." Without explaining, she pats his shoulder lightly on her way out of the bay.

-⚯-

"Do we have to go?" Lucio grimaces, threading his fingers between Baptiste's as they head down the hall toward the assembly room for Winston's big announcement.

"You could probably get away with staying in the med bay if you want," Baptiste admits, smiling lightly at him. Lucio crinkles his nose.

"If I could, so could you," he points out. "You got your ribs bashed in."

"Yes, broken ribs equals torn rectum," Baptiste snorts. "Not to mention all the trauma."

"Hey, without you, I wouldn't be able to joke about it at all."

Baptiste squeezes his hand encouragingly, but doesn't reply. He really hopes Lucio will be alright after he's gone; he can't imagine Winston's announcement is going to be for anything more than finally cutting him loose. And what did he expect after getting everyone's favourite musician captured and assaulted?

He is really, really going to miss Lucio's smile, though.

Most everyone else is already gathered by the time Baptiste and Lucio arrive, and they're gathered in groups around the room. Genji spots them first and waves.

"Lucio!" he calls, which gets Hana's attention. She breaks away from Brigitte and Mei to rush over and all but tackle Lucio in a massive hug. Baptiste lets go of his hand and steps back out of the way.

"How are you?" she asks, withdrawing just as quickly to look him over. "Are you feeling better? Is Mercy taking good care of you?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Lucio chuckles, surreptitiously shifting out of her grip. "I'm fine; don't worry about it, Han. What you  _ should _ be worrying about is your  _ Sea God Wars _ high score, because now that I'm back, I'm gonna reclaim my title."

"Good luck, frogger!" Hana laughs. She doesn't notice his smile turn brittle and forced, taking his hand and pointing vaguely toward Brigitte and Mei, who have been joined by Pharah and Zarya. "Come sit with us!"

Baptiste inconspicuously presses his hand to the small of Lucio's back, first in reassurance, and then to nudge him forward encouragingly. With a hesitant, uneasy glance over his shoulder, Lucio reluctantly goes.

Within a minute or two, the rest of the base has joined the assembly and Winston goes to the front. Everyone quiets and either faces the front or goes to a seat when he clears his throat. Baptiste stays to the back, but doesn't leave, however much he wants to.

"Welcome everybody; hello," Winston begins, as awkwardly amiable as always. "As many of you know already, just over two weeks ago, two of our own were captured during a raid on one of Talon's storehouses. Two days ago, after many days of research and planning, Reinhardt led a team to rescue them and brought them home." He pauses for the scattered cheering and applause, and then presses on. "Last night, some new information was brought to my attention, and it's in light of this information that I have some things to say. First, I'm going to need Jean-Baptiste Augustin to join me on the proverbial stage."

Startled, Baptiste doesn't move. People shift and glance around, perplexed, and Soldier 76, who's closest, elbows him hard in the back, knocking him forward.

Well, apparently it's going to be a spectacle. He never would have expected Winston to be the kind of person that makes this big a deal out of chasing someone off. But whatever; soon enough he'll be gone and he won't have to think about it.

He makes his way to the front under the silent stares of the room's occupants, holding his head high and taking a full attention stance beside Winston. His gaze catches Lucio's in the second row, and he can't help but soften a little at the concern in the musician's gaze.

"I am very aware," Winston goes on, "that many of you don't understand why I agreed to let Augustin join us. The few of you who do know, thank you for keeping counsel, but it's time I explained. As you all know, Augustin is former Talon. What you  _ don't _ know is that in his first month with us, he turned over every bit of Talon insider knowledge he had, and since then has helped us anticipate and predict changes in Talon behaviour and protocol. It's thanks to Augustin that so many of our operations against Talon have succeeded, and thanks to Augustin that those which failed resulted in minimal injury." You could hear a pin drop on the carpet in this room; Winston barrels onward. "Last night I was informed that on top of all of this, his loyalty was tested during his capture, and not only did he refuse to give in, he took steps to protect his teammate and minimise damage. Augustin has proven himself over and over again, and it's time we recognised that. Jean-Baptiste Augustin, it is my greatest honour to award you the Overwatch Medal of Excellence for your bravery and service."

Tracer blinks into existence beside him with a grin and a giggle as she holds out a medallion on a vivid purple ribbon. Winston takes it and ceremoniously drapes it around Baptiste's shoulders.

The stunned silence that greets this announcement is yet another glaring reminder, and Baptiste lifts the medallion to stare at it, conflicted.

"...I don't deserve this honour." He doesn't speak very loud, but he doesn't have to; his voice rings in the silence. "Nothing I did was an act of bravery. I was a coward, and only did what I did to protect my own skin."

"That's not true!" Lucio exclaims, standing. Hana gasps, and a soft, surprised murmur spreads through the room, silencing when Lucio steps to the side and hops over an empty chair in the front row to face the room. "Sure, he only squealed for safe haven, but he didn't have to help with everything else. And are we really going to question motives when, whatever they were, they saved all of us? Some of us multiple times over!"

"That doesn't give him the right to be so rude!" Hana blurts, pouting and glaring at Baptiste. He looks away, ashamed.

"He's not  _ tryna _ be rude," Lucio returns. "He just doesn't have the same humour most of us do. Genji didn't think it was funny when you and I covered his walls in graffiti. Pharah wasn't  _ at all _ amused when we put paper mache feathers all over her suit. Hell, even I wasn't laughing at your April Fool's joke last year."

"Sarcasm is an easy form of humour to misinterpret," Zenyatta notes lightly.

"Thank you," Lucio says emphatically. "Look, I'll be the first to admit that I really didn't want him here at first. Then I spent two weeks locked in a tiny ass room with him. Every single one of us has had our moments of weakness, of cowardice, whatever; we've all made mistakes. That doesn't mean we're bad people, right? Neither is Baptiste. And I don't give a damn if you all still don't want to give him a chance, but I am." Without another word, he grabs Baptiste's hand and all but drags him out of the room.

"...You didn't have to stand up for me," Baptiste says quietly when Lucio finally stops just outside the medical bay.

"Yeah, actually, I did," Lucio growls, crossing his arms and glaring at the wall. "I'm sick of hypocrites."

Even angry, he's far too cute. Baptiste just watches him stew for a moment, taking it in, and then lays a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey. How about those dance lessons?"

-⚯-

The ghostly grip of large hands against his skin kicks Lucio from an already haunting dream, and he lays shivering in bed for a long time, trying to breathe with lungs that seem to have forgotten what they are, and struggling to remind himself that this is reality and his heart doesn't need to be trying to beat a hole through his ribcage. When the sleep paralysis finally shatters, the frigid chill of adrenaline in his veins slowly seeping away, he sits up, kicks the blankets away, swings his legs out of bed. A hiss escapes at the far colder touch of the floor against his toes, but he bears it to stand and leave the cubicle.

Mercy is going to have questions in the morning, but right now, Lucio can't bring himself to care. He isn't even entirely sure where he's going until he finds himself on a lookout post overlooking the cliffs and the wide expanse of the ocean. He grips the railing, staring down at the waves bashing relentlessly against the rocks. The rest of the world fades away after a moment, his entire focus centered on the repetitive swish and crash below.

"There are far easier and more certain ways to die." Lucio jolts away from the railing, heart leaping to his throat as he whirls.

Zenyatta raises his hands, waiting patiently for Lucio to realise he's not a threat.

"Zen... I- I wasn't going to..."

"I gathered not," the monk hums, sounding almost amused as he hovers closer. "You have been standing here for several minutes."

"How did you- I mean, why are you-" Lucio breaks off, unable to form a complete thought.

"You are not the only lost and beaten soul within these walls to seek peace and solace where heights can be... tempting." Zenyatta turns, lowering almost to the ground with his back against the railing. "Most notice me sooner, however."

"You... were already here?" Lucio grimaces.

"Yes," Zenyatta answers, surprisingly straightforward. "It is a favoured haunt for many who cannot sleep, second only to the comforts of the kitchen." He cocks his head, eyeing Lucio. "I will admit; yours was not the soul I expected to visit tonight. But I do not doubt yours is the soul I am meant to soothe tonight. Tell me, what drives you to restlessness so late?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Lucio mumbles, dropping beside him and wrapping both arms around his knees.

"Are you sure?" the monk teases lightly. "I have been told I am an excellent listener."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," Lucio huffs, running a hand through his dreads.

"I find that the best place to start a journey is at the beginning."

"And where's that, guru?" he scoffs. "When we got captured? When Baptiste joined Overwatch? When  _ I _ joined Overwatch?"

"Your journey is tied to Baptiste's," Zenyatta notes. "Perhaps you ought to begin with him."

"And say what? I already said my piece at the assembly."

"There is more to your emotion," the monk claims shrewdly, idly tapping one of the balls around his neck back and forth between his index fingers, so the whole circle turns one way and then the other.

"Of course there is," Lucio agrees reluctantly, "but I'm not ready to talk about what happened."

"So do not. Instead, talk only about how you felt."

"Helpless. Worthless. Disgusting."

"Because of Baptiste?"

"No!" Lucio looks up quickly. "No. He was the only reason I ever felt... okay. Like everything was going to be okay. I wasn't afraid with him."

"So you do not hate him?"

"Of course not!"

"Then you love him."

"Yeah, I- Wait, no-" Hot embarrassment creeps up Lucio's neck as he realises what Zenyatta did.

"It is difficult, at times, to be honest with oneself," the monk purrs, definitely amused. "Particularly in matters of the heart. Your restlessness stems from your feeling of inadequacy, from your belief that you are worthless and sullied. For someone so used to being in the limelight, I can only imagine how it must feel to think you have lost everything that made you attractive. Your fans only hear your music; what you choose to do with that is all they have to know. Your friends only see your smile; only when you have lost that will they realise your pain. Lucio..." He stops the balls and places a hand on Lucio's shoulder. "As popular as you are, the world is oblivious and blind; only those who know your suffering intimately will understand or even recognise your pain. To look away from someone like that is to hurt you both." He returns to batting the balls back and forth again. "You know, Hana has visited me a time or two. I think the two of you would benefit from a deeper understanding of one another's scars. And Baptiste may be the only person in the world who will truly understand your suffering. Hint hint."

A reluctant laugh pushes up from Lucio's chest and he scrubs his hands over his face.

He hadn't even thought about most of that yet, but apparently Zenyatta can see into the future, because he can already see where his line of thinking was headed, and maybe it would have been a while, but he definitely would have spiralled into a "woe is me, everyone hates me" phase, guaranteed.

"How are you so..."

"Insightful?" Zenyatta offers cheekily.

"I was gonna say 'good at this,' but sure let's go with that."

"To be completely honest, I do not know," Zenyatta answers, oddly straightforward again. For someone with a propensity for crypticism, he certainly doesn't hold back on the punches sometimes. "I suspect it is my gift, just as your gift is music, and Genji's is poetry."

"Wait, wait..." Lucio tries not to laugh. "Genji writes poetry?"

"The fullest blooms still wither, the brightest moon will wane. Not so my love for thee, although my love is vane." Zenyatta chuckles as Lucio's eyes widen, brows raised. "You should hear what he comes up with when he actually tries."

"I... don't even know what to say to that."

"I have suggested a collaboration many times, but he still hesitates; perhaps a direct request will benefit you both?"

"Oh now I see why you're  _ really _ helping me," Lucio tsks, enjoying the banter.

"Oh dear me; have I let slip my evil plan? To force a collaboration of so talented a musician and my brightest pupil... Such wickedness." His LEDs twinkle mischievously in the moonlight, and Lucio can't help but laugh.

"Flattery, while appreciated, will get you nowhere, mister."

"Ah well," Zenyatta says with an exaggerated sigh. "I tried."

For a few moments, they sit in light, companionable silence, broken only by the buzzing of night insects and the crash of the waves below. Lucio definitely considers the logistics of a collaboration with Genji, but his mind wanders, and inevitably returns to his dream. His nightmare.

"Hey, Zen?"

"Yes?"

"Is there...?" He falters, realising how stupid he's going to sound, and shakes his head. "Nevermind. Stupid question."

"Then it would engender a stupid answer. That does not mean it should not be asked."

"...Is there a way... to stop associating a word with something?" Lucio stares at the floor of the catwalk, not wanting to look at Zenyatta in case the monk somehow sees what he really means.

"I suppose it depends," Zenyatta says thoughtfully.

"On...?"

"The word, and what is being associated. For instance, peanut butter will never  _ not _ be associated with jelly. Or, in our case, with Winston. On the other hand, after your rousing speech and the announcement it followed, 'rude' may no longer be associated with Baptiste."

"What about... nicknames?" Lucio clarifies tentatively. Zenyatta doesn't answer right away, but something inside his frame is whirring, and Lucio assumes that means he's thinking.

"...If a nickname holds bad memories," he says slowly, "my suggestion would be to overwrite the bad memories with good memories. But there is a chance that the old memories will simply taint the new ones." Zenyatta lifts his shoulders slightly. "I am afraid I do not know how to answer that."

"No, I... I think you did," Lucio says quietly. Then he stands, glancing down at Zenyatta, who watches him. "Thanks, seriously."

"It is always my pleasure," the monk purrs. "If you ever want to talk, I should hope I have proven my capabilities as a listener."

"More than," Lucio chuckles. "Night, Zen."

"Good night, Lucio." Zenyatta waves, and Lucio returns it with a smile as he heads back to the medical bay.

Baptiste is sound asleep in one of the cubicles, where Mercy practically ordered him to lay down when he almost fell asleep on the workbench. He would almost look peaceful if not for the small twitches and facial expressions; whether he's aware of it or not, he doesn't seem to be having a very good dream.

Lucio watches him for a moment, debating, and then decides to take the plunge; stepping into the cubicle, he crawls onto the bed and slips under the covers, cuddling up to Baptiste's side. The older man shifts, almost seeming to wake up, and wraps an arm around him, settling almost immediately into a far more restful looking sleep. Smiling, Lucio nuzzles into his chest and closes his eyes.

Maybe he'll sleep, or maybe not, but either way, he hasn't felt so comfortable or safe in a long time.

-⚯-

Hair is constantly teasing at Baptiste's nose, and he wakes with a stifled sneeze. Shifting so it's no longer a problem, he pulls the warm body next to him a bit closer. And then realises there's a warm body next to him.

Lucio makes a soft noise of annoyance, shuffling so his back is plastered to Baptiste's chest, and sighs quietly, still asleep.

By Goddess, this man is going to be the death of him.

Baptiste can't bring himself to move, fearing he might wake the musician. But it doesn't matter, because a few moments later, Lucio stirs and stretches a bit, letting out the cutest little sigh as he settles again and moving one hand to Baptiste's arm to stroke his nails lightly over skin.

"I know you're awake," the musician murmurs sleepily.

"How?" Baptiste asks, sheepish for being caught but also amused.

"Deeper breathing, faster heart rate... and your dick is poking me."

"Morning wood," Baptiste protests, moving his hips back so it's not a problem anymore.

"Relax," Lucio assures, huffing a soft laugh and twisting a bit to look at him with adorable sleepy eyes. "Not like I don't suffer it too."

There's a pillow mark on the side of Lucio's face, and Baptiste smiles, reaching up to trace it.

"Did you have a nightmare last night?" he asks reluctantly. It's not a subject he wants to bring up right now, but might as well get it over with.

"Yes," Lucio answers quietly. Shifting away, he turns over completely, facing Baptiste and resting his hand on Baptiste's side. "I talked with Zen a little and he helped me work through some stuff."

"Yeah?" Baptiste can't keep his gaze from wandering to Lucio's lips. He must not be fully awake yet, because no matter how much he tells himself to listen, he keeps wondering if the musician's lips are as soft as they look.

"Yeah, and I was hoping you'd help me with something."

"Help with something?" Oh Goddess, he sounds way too eager. Worse, the hopeful twitch of his traitorous dick taps it against Lucio's, making it brutally obvious what he's thinking.

"Looks like you need a little help first," Lucio notes, a small smile curling his lips.

"Ah... Sorry; I didn't mean to-"

"Chill; I know it's natural," the musician assures, sliding his hand over Baptiste's hip and down to press his palm against the hard line tenting fabric. Baptiste hisses at the jolt of warmth the touch causes, and immediately grabs Lucio's wrist, stopping him.

"You don't have to do that," he manages, already hoarse with need.

"I know. I want to." The sincerity in the musician's expression burns straight through Baptiste's chest and his grip on Lucio's wrist loosens without conscious approval. Taking advantage of it, Lucio quickly fumbles to the opening in the boxers, fingers dipping beneath cloth to caress hot flesh and sending a spike of need straight to Baptiste's gut. He gives up and rests his hand lightly on Lucio's bicep while the musician gently but firmly strokes him beneath his boxers.

There's a tentative hesitance to it that speaks of Lucio's inexperience, but Baptiste really, really doesn't care right now. He doesn't realise his eyes have drifted closed until he feels the softest press of lips against his own and they pop open to see Lucio less than an inch away, suddenly still as he waits for Baptiste's reaction.

Goddess help him because he apparently has no control over his actions anymore; with only the barest hesitation from surprise, he surges in for another kiss, cupping the musician's jaw and pouring every emotion into it.

The combination of the kiss and Lucio's touch threatens to undo Baptiste already, and the wave is only kept at bay by the sudden desire to reciprocate. He shifts to touch his other hand ever so lightly to Lucio's own morning wood, breaking the kiss only for a moment.

"Is this okay?"

"I- I'd rather not..." Lucio admits, barely above a whisper. Baptiste immediately pulls his hand away and presses his palm to the musician's chest instead.

"What can I do?" he asks helplessly, trying and failing to keep his hips still as Lucio's hand continues urging him toward what may be his fastest orgasm yet. "I want you to feel good too."

Lucio makes a small, choked noise that  _ does _ things to Baptiste, the rhythm of the musician's hand faltering as he steals another quick kiss.

"I already feel good," he whispers against Baptiste's lips. "Just this, knowing that I can do this to you, make you feel like this, is the best feeling in the world. I don't need anything else when I have you."

That does it; Baptiste  _ breaks _ . The coil of heat in his gut snaps, the delicate balance of his heart shatters, and everything dissolves into an explosion of bliss that reaches every corner of his soul.

When he comes back to himself, he's on his back and Lucio is draped half across his chest, legs tangled, nuzzling his neck, and humming a quiet, cheerful tune.

"You broke me," Baptiste manages roughly, tightening his arm around Lucio's waist and basking in the feeling of their bodies pressed flush together.

"Sorry," Lucio chuckles, not sounding at all apologetic.

"What did you want help with?" Baptiste asks, as if he wouldn't give Lucio the moon if the musician requested it.

Lucio doesn't answer right away, tracing absent designs across Baptiste's chest, and he waits patiently for the musician to answer in his own time.

"...Would you... call me 'frog' sometimes?"

Now it's Baptiste's turn to consider.

Frogs have always been Lucio's thing, the gimmick he uses for his concerts and music. That imagery was no doubt corrupted by Mauga's constant use of "little frog" instead of Lucio's name; Baptiste didn't miss how visceral his reaction was when Hana called him "frogger," which she'd been calling him for months since he beat her at the game by the same name. He can't imagine how hard it must be to have such an integral part of his being suddenly turned into a curse, but he certainly admires Lucio's attempt to take it back for himself.

"If that's what you want,  _ ti krapo _ ."

Lucio pushes up to an elbow to give him a look.

"That's not what I meant."

"Baby steps, Lucio," Baptiste smiles, reaching up to trace the faint, still there line of the pillow crease on his cheek. "You'll get there."

"And you'll help me?" Lucio asks, watching him closely. The intensity of his gaze tells Baptiste there's more to that question than the words imply, and it takes him a moment to parse out the possibilities.

"...If that's what you want," he says again, taking a chance and holding his breath.

"I just want you by my side," Lucio admits quietly.

"For as long as you'll have me," Baptiste promises, pulling him down into another kiss.

-⚯-

Elsewhere in the base, Zenyatta feels a surge in the Iris and purrs in delight.

"The most beautiful designs in pottery require the most severe breaks," he hums.

"What was that, Master?" Genji asks, looking up from his meditation.

"Nothing, my dear student," Zenyatta replies cheerfully. "The ramblings of a mischievous old soul satisfied with his work."

Genji laughs, and Zenyatta's soul sings.


End file.
